


Pipping

by korik



Series: Misery Mine [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Character Study, Child Abandonment, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Drabble, Gen, Minor Canonical Character(s), going with that Vayne is a monk thing, kids are hard to write, not sure how satisfied I am with this, nu mou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korik/pseuds/korik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vayne is barely four, and he has yet to read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pipping

He is a babe when they send him away, bouncing in the chocobo drawn carriage with the blinds drawn, crying into the wee hours of the morning for those that no longer hear him. A baby boy who will never understand that it was for his own safety, marked at birth for the selfish desires of others to free them from their soggy webs, until the years have worn him thin into a blade and call him Kinslayer.

“I don't remember,” comes the child's voice, only some years later in his expulsion, shuffling his feet into the dirt of the monastery grounds they have bequeathed him to, bare toes curling around loose soil. The straps of his sandals are broken again from his urges to explore, to find what he is not meant to, to listen where he is not wanted. He sits on his heels in the yard wearing a yellowed child's robe of hand woven cloth against the cold of the mountains and Mist, a delicate strand of beads around his neck, and an entwining pair of dragons dragging both child and decorations towards the ground.

The older boy at his side, lightly wrapped in the colored fabrics of youth, with hunched back and curled tail, long draping ears newly pierced, gives a warm laugh, though it never mocks the child. “All that is will be remembered, little Prince.”

The young cast off raises his eyes from the twist of his digits in the dirt, staring into the slender face of his companion, straightening so his dark hands can better reach out to grasp the lengthy fur, delicate lips of a boy barely four turning upwards. “I'm not a prince – am I?”

The larger nu mou boy takes his own roughened hands up, using them to grasp the child before the child upends him into the dirt, “All children are royal, and all are children.” His thick claws are blunted, and he brushes a pad of his finger over the small child's face, moving the runaway strands of hair from the unblemished features, the bright eyes more like chilled diamonds.

Vayne clutches at the larger boy's hand, laughing at he pushes his face into it, humming with the enjoyment of touch, of assurance, of warmth.

The long line of the dog-boy's mouth turns into a brilliant smile. “Have you read your letters this day? I heard you received some from the Honored Secondwife this week past.”

The child shakes his head, causing the thicker hand to slide away. “I can't read.” Soft features crumple. “Magisterghis is away.” His eyes brighten again. “But don't worry – I know what she wrote!”

The shaggy hair at his brow raises. “Ooh? What did she say to you?”

The boy fiddles with his own hands, looking every which way except the direction of his friend, emphatic in his speech. “She says, uhm, I will be home soon, and there will be cakes, and she loves me, and she wants to see my mountain.”

The nu mou nods and hums in assent. “I trust she has acknowledged your studies going well, too?”

The nodding of the small head causes more smiles, and he kisses the curly top.

“Mama likes my stories.”

“Does she now? Does she like that you are learning well?”

The boy peers at his friend, chubby digits brushing against the lengthy fur so unlike that atop his own head – pale, whitening with age even down to the thick, dragging tail. It leaves the nu mou looking an awful lot like a patchworked quilt, but infinitely softer. He is unaware of just how old his companion truly is, however, but in his mind his friend is _too old_ regardless, a view so often children take when looking upon their elders.

“It's ti _ring_ –“ the child huffs, laughing as he makes the older boy sneeze. “ - Hymm Parsca makes me sleepy - “

The child dissolves into giggling as the nu mou dips his lengthy head lower, sending a cascade of his paling fur across the sensitive skin of his face, squirming and freeing himself to the chilled ground.

“You would do well to listen, even a little, Hymm Parsca only wants to help you, little scamp. Listen as your cat-friends do – they have internalized their lessons well.”

Vayne's head ducks and hands clutch each other behind his robed backside, a red flush darkening his skin further as he cannot help but to smile up through the tangle of unruly hairs to the face he is certain he cannot help but love. “Yes, Acolyte Ieeha.”


End file.
